Legacy: And His Name On My Lips
by whovianbard
Summary: A one-shot follow up to Legacy. On a nameless planet Avon had promised to hunt her down... Rated for adult themes and character death.


**Authors Note: This is a follow-up to Legacy and to be honest it won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read that first. I said I wasn't going to write about the final outcome for Avon and Vila and I've not changed my mind about that, but this has been fighting to surface for a while... I'll leave you make you're own minds up as to where it takes you.**

**It's unbeta-d so any mistakes are my own.**

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_Legacy: And His Name On My Lips..._

I found her, Vila. Two years and eight months after she ran from me into the forest. In truth it took longer than I expected. I thought, given my desire to see all my carefully laid plans finally come to fruition, that catching up with her would be easy. Two weeks, a month at most, running her to ground, a few minutes to feast on the fear in her eyes and then I would drive the heavy blade that hangs by my side up, deep into her chest and smile as her life leached away over my fingers. But I had underestimated her. Not for the first time I hear you say, and as always you'd be right. She may have crashed through the undergrowth without thought as she took flight leaving a trail that any ten year old boy scout could follow, but within a mile the trail had gone cold. It was as though she had taken to the air, the trail ending suddenly leaving ground and vegetation untouched. And so the month turned into two, and then six. Occasionally I would stumble across an abandoned camp site, the remains of a small fire, sometimes still warm, mocking me that once again I had missed her by no more than a couple of hours.

You wouldn't recognise me if you saw me now. I only have pools of water to show me my appearance and I avoid looking at them if I can – I know I won't like what I see. I'm a shadow of the person I once was, my clothes (what's left of them) hang off my frame, trousers held up by a length of vine tied around my waist. My hair is long, past my shoulders, and is matted and grey. It goes well with the beard. I tried to stay clean shaven, I remember how much you hated even a shadow of stubble, but honestly, what's the point. It's not as if you'll ever know.

Surviving on this nameless planet has proved surprisingly easy. The climate is temperate, the change in seasons almost imperceptible and it is rich in water, vegetation and small animal life. I think that if circumstances had been different I would have enjoyed making this world my home.

After the first year I thought about giving up, opening the box I still carry in my breast pocket and injecting that most perfect of poisons. After all, as far as she was concerned she would think I was still looking. A year of living in fear that I will catch up with her goes some way to evening the score, doesn't it? No, of course it doesn't. I had to kill her, otherwise it would all be for nothing. And so I carried on, for another year and eight months. Another series of near misses which spurred me on and depressed me equally. A week ago I even caught sight of her, a flash of white vanishing between the rocks on the far side of a valley and I yelled her name. She checked, just for a moment, but then was gone.

And then today I found her. I climbed a rocky slope to an outcrop which I knew looked out over a river delta and at the far edge of the horizon there was the shimmering haze of an ocean. I had been there before, more than once, hoping that I would catch a glimpse of my prey. Giving me some sense of direction. This time the outcrop was occupied. She leant against one of the many boulders set a little way back from the edge, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

I said, Vila, that you wouldn't recognise me, well I barely recognised her. The harsh lines of her face etched into my memory had been softened by exposure to the elements, her pale skin, now olive, much as I guess mine must be. The severe crop had gone, her hair still shorted than my own, framing her face in soft waves, though still as ebony black as ever. I'll tell you something curious, dressed in rebel getup instead of those insanely impractical gowns, she looks a lot like Cally.

I thought she might say something to me when I looked into her eyes, I expected her to rise, but those panther black eyes just held mine steadily, a hint of a smile curving her lips, almost as if she accepted her fate. In retrospect I think she was expecting me to talk. Expecting me to gloat that I'd made good on my promise. But I'd said everything I wanted to say that day by the escape capsule, Vila. I just wanted it done.

I pushed the knife in deep, Vila. Up between her ribs. Right to the hilt. She never made a sound and still her eyes held mine. It was just as I imagined it. I even managed to conjure a smile, one of my old Avon smiles, the ones that used to make you edge away from me. It was almost perfect. I say almost, because the final element, the one I'd been looking forward to most, the sight of her blood spilling out over my hands, was missing. Instead the blood was pooled on the floor beneath her, a dark glistening lake that lapped at the soles of my boots. Only then did I see her arms, laying limply by her sides, broad bloody wounds running vertically from her wrists to her elbows, in her hands a shard of metal probably salvaged from one of the capsules.

I'd missed her again.

It's over. Finally. I think it's somehow fitting that she and I will die here together, side by side. I know you would hate that, but I find I don't want to be alone.

I can feel the surge of your blood into my veins. It seems strange, after so many years of trying to avoid this, that now it feels as though you are welcoming me into your arms. I wonder how long it will be before the poison takes effect. I hope that the last thing I see will be your face, that my fingers will grasp your photo until my last breath.

In the distance I can hear a rumble of thunder and for a second it sounds like the roar of a shuttle entering the atmosphere. I smile at my own foolishness.

I am tired, so very tired. I think maybe, finally, I can sleep now.

Vila...


End file.
